So, some of you might remember the other day when Lantresor of the Blade wrote to me saying – among other things – that he was coming up to Orgrimmar to see about signing on with the Horde. Seemed like a pretty good deal, what with Lantresor being a major badass by all accounts, plus him being pretty much the head honcho of a clan of ogres. Which, yeah, maybe not the deepest thinkers in the world, but for real, have you seen some of the hired help I’ve already got on staff? I have Dontrag and Utvoch on payroll. I’ve got no business throwing stones.

Anyhow, I got Marogg the infantry chef to whip up a welcoming dinner for Lantresor and his crew, but we kind of overshot a little. See, when Lantresor sent his letter, he mentioned forming a new “Burning Skull” ogre clan, and wanting to sign on… then he said he got that Mogor ogre dude to port “us” to what I’m guessing was Ratchet (where, if epic limericks are to be believed, there once was a goblin from)… and that “we” would arrive in Grommash Hold soon.

And see, that’s great and all. Problem was, “us” and “we” didn’t give me much of an idea of how many people “us” and “we” were, and based on everything else Lantresor was saying, as far as I knew, dude was gonna roll up on Orgrimmar with his whole damn ogre clan. And seriously, have you ever tried feeding a bunch of ogres? Pro tip: don’t. Trust me. I’ve been to Brackenwall Village a bunch of times to see Draz’Zilb. You know why the place always looks so run down? Because motherfuckers don’t have time to fix shit when motherfuckers gotta spend their whole day scraping up enough food to cover their daily requirement of 20,000 calories a head. Including a bunch of dudes who’ve got more than one head.

Anyway, point is, I had some indeterminate-sized ogre contingent rolling on into town, and I knew I was going to have to FEED these stupid assholes, because, you know, I’m not going to be fucking RUDE. (Greatmother didn’t raise no ungracious hosts. My heretofore unboxed ears would not survive.) So I had to have Marogg err on the side of safety and crank out enough grub to feed a small army of ogres. Which… let me tell you, that’s not gonna be a fun line item to see in next month’s budget report. I might have to get some slaughterhouses up and running just to offset the dent this puts in the meat supply. Maybe in the Barrens. Seems like we’ve got some spare real estate out there. Anyhow, I digress.

Bottom line, Marogg pulled in a bunch of culinary personnel to help – I even got our ol’ pal Ji Lunchbox and some of his panda buddies chipping in on this – and managed to whip up enough eats to cover our bases. And so, who shows up?

Lantresor and Mogor.

The end. THAT was the fucking “we.” Lantresor and his double-headed, half-brained plus-fucking-one.

FUCKED OVER ONCE AGAIN BY AMBIGUOUS PRONOUN ANTECEDENTS. SEE? SEE? IMPRECISE GRAMMAR CAN COST A SMALL FORTUNE. STAY IN FUCKING SCHOOL, KIDS.

Um. I mean “fucking school” as in… like… you know… just school. Not school for fucking. Because for one thing, I mean, I get enough hate mail as it is, without advocating THAT certificate program. And for another, not for nothing, but it would be kind of a futile teaching exercise. Either you got it or you don’t. Sorry, nerds.

MOVING ON.

Anyway, point is, we massively overshot there, so, you know, if you happen to be in the Orgrimmar neck of the woods, and you like Kickin’ Chimaerok Chops, well, I’ve got leftovers. Like… a LOT of leftovers. Like make-the-week-after-Pilgrim’s-Bounty-look-like-fucking-NOTHING kind of leftovers. And the faster they get eaten, the sooner I can relieve the frost mages I’ve got on duty round the clock keeping the shit from spoiling. And MAN OH MAN, you can practically HEAR Ji high-tailing it over here with a fork and knife in hand, can’t you?

So where was I? Oh. Yeah. Lantresor.

So yeah, the initial meeting went pretty well. I don’t know if either of us knew what to make of the other at first, but after a little while we started exchanging stories about ways we’ve each messed with Jorin Deadeye, and that broke the ice right quick. We still have some odds and ends to work out, but it looks like Lantresor and his crew are going to come on board, which is only going to help shore up defenses on a bunch of different fronts. Plus, Lantresor apparently knows a handful of blademasters from the old Burning Blade clan who are still hiding out in Outland, and he seems pretty confident he could bring them over as well. So, a lot of potential win going on.

The only awkward part has been how Lantresor kept asking about Shayari. And, um, you know… after Khizzara turned on the warning lights on that one, just to be safe, I made sure Shay was out of town when Lantresor was due to arrive. By… well… sending her off on a shopping trip. Which… seemed like a decent enough idea at the time. Until she got home with a fucking kodo carrying the stuff she bought. Including the kodo. This one’s gonna leave a mark, I can tell.

Meanwhile, Lantresor keeps asking after Shay. I may just have to bite the cannonball and try to get Garona over here.

That much isn’t a surprise. The thought never would have occurred to me that he wouldn’t be back.

I just never would have expected this to be the way it happened.

Mokvar was captured in the Barrens by Krog and a security team. After word came back from Garona that Mokvar had met with Magatha Grimtotem, Eitrigg issued orders that he wanted him brought in. Mokvar and his human friend Deliana were found heading toward Ratchet, and were apprehended without much of a struggle.

I was able to poke into Grommash Hold when I saw the guards arrive with them, although I wasn’t able to stick around to see everything before I was ushered back out again. No surprise, Eitrigg was absolutely livid – he was upset enough about the allegations from Ironforge, but this new development with Magatha on top of it was more than even his temper could stand.

I’m nowhere near as good as Mokvar at recording conversations, so I’m not going to be able to provide an account of what I heard as well as he could. “What are you doing?” and “What are you thinking?” featured pretty prominently for Eitrigg early on, and I distinctly remember him going off along the lines of “You realize we’ll have to report all this to Garrosh, and when he hears half of it, it will be a miracle if we’re not able to hear him screaming all the way from Pandaria.” He kept trying to get Mokvar to explain himself somehow – he kept pointing out that they’d served together for years under Garrosh and Thrall, that he wanted there to be some reason that could account for the way Mokvar’s been acting lately. Mokvar wouldn’t give him anything. He would just shrug and pass on every question. “I would prefer not to,” or something like that.

I wasn’t there for everything that was said, but here’s where things stand, from what I’ve gathered: Mokvar is being held in what amounts to house arrest. He’s confined in his home with Kor’kron guards posted at all times – partly to make sure no new attackers reach him, but mostly to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Deliana is being held in “protective custody” pending transport back to Alliance territory.

Meanwhile, Garona is planning to join the next troop transport leaving for Pandaria next week to report everything that’s happened to Garrosh personally. Considering what she’s going to be reporting…I hope she goes in ready to pop Evasion.

The less said about Ironforge, the better. Even if I wanted to discuss it, which I really don’t, now isn’t the time.

Deliana returned with me from the Eastern Kingdoms, and we met Ji briefly in Ratchet. He had good news (relatively speaking, at least) from the errand I’d sent him on, even though it had ended up running him from Desolace to Feralas then all the way back up to Stonetalon. After we all exchanged notes, I sent Ji back home to Orgrimmar. He resisted at first; he wanted to come with us for this next step. But he was already deeper in this mess than I’d wanted him to get, and besides, this was my fight, not his.

Liana and I arranged windrider passage from Ratchet down to Mudsprocket. From there, it was a fairly short ride over to the Wyrmbog, and the cave that used to be the lair of Onyxia.

We entered the cave. We didn’t venture far, just deep enough to find a corner where every point of entry was visible. Onyxia’s been dead for years, of course, but that didn’t stop it from being unnerving to go in there. I’m sure it would have been unsettling in any case, but considering the rumors Theldren had brought back about Nefarian’s old forces being restless again, I found myself still half-expecting a black dragon to come jumping out of the shadows at any moment. After all, Nefarian and Onyxia had both come back from the dead once already. Not that I’m one to talk; I’ve died a couple times myself. Spirits willing, I’d like the last time to stay the last for a good long while.

Eventually, we heard footsteps, and saw the light of a torch approaching from the same direction we’d come. The footsteps slowly drew nearer, until a single tauren stepped into view. Between his dark fur and the shadows that shifted around him in the dim cave, he probably seemed a lot larger than he really was.

TAUREN: You are Mokvar?

Mokvar nods.

MOKVAR: Are you alone?

The tauren tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow.

You know what I mean.

TAUREN: We honor the terms of the meeting, of course.

MOKVAR: <faint grin> So in other words, the rest of your friends are waiting right outside the cave.

MOKVAR: There’s no need, Liana. He has a point – if we’re screwed at this point, we’re screwed no matter what.

The tauren looks back and forth between Mokvar and Deliana, then back up the passageway through which he’d entered. He lifts a horn to his mouth and sounds a low blare. Deliana continues to watch him closely; the tauren returns her gaze bemusedly.

TAUREN: You’re going to make me think you don’t trust us, little one.

DELIANA: You might say you have something of a reputation.

TAUREN: <nods toward Mokvar> So do the orcs. That doesn’t seem to have affected you.

DELIANA: <shrugs> I like green.

The tauren chuckles. From the passageway, footsteps become audible again and grow progressively closer. After a moment, Magatha Grimtotem enters the chamber and scans the scene.

MAGATHA: Ah, Mokvar. It’s been too long.

MOKVAR: Magatha. I’m surprised you remember me, to tell the truth.

MAGATHA: I never forget a face. <looks to Deliana> This one is new, though.

MOKVAR: Yes, she is.

Magatha smirks.

MAGATHA: You’re not going to introduce us, Mokvar? How rude of you.

MOKVAR: On top of everything else, Magatha, do we really need to maintain the pretense that we’re friends now, too?

MAGATHA: I’m merely trying to be cordial. <to Deliana> Is he always this prickly?

DELIANA: No. You must have that effect on people. <looks to Mokvar, then back to Magatha> But, if it makes you feel any better… Deliana Hawthorne.

MAGATHA: The pleasure is mine.

DELIANA: It would have to be.

MAGATHA: I’m beginning to see why you two get along.

Magatha looks around the cavern.

This is an interesting choice of venues, Mokvar. Something of a step down from your usual accommodations, isn’t it?

MOKVAR: A change of scenery now and then can be a good thing. For instance, last I heard, you were on the run even from your own tribe.

MAGATHA: You’ll find the Grimtotem tend not to hold grudges long against their own kind. And I can be very persuasive.

MOKVAR: Just as well. It made it a little easier for Ji to get my message to you.

MAGATHA: I must say I was intrigued. I’m not unaccustomed to being the object of some…pursuit…but usually only from your Warchief’s usual lot of knuckle-dragging lackeys. Your furry friend, however…

MOKVAR: Not your typical Orgrimmar grunt, I know.

MAGATHA: Yes, he had a polysyllabic vocabulary. And spent a not-inconsiderable time musing over whether we had anything extra to eat.

MOKVAR: That’s Ji, yeah.

MAGATHA: Regardless, I’m quite curious as to why you would seek me out, given the company you usually keep. Then again… <looks to Deliana> …I doubt your current companion would be well received in Orgrimmar herself.

DELIANA: Maybe he’s trying to make me look better by bringing in one of the only people who would be less welcome.

MAGATHA: <chuckles> As plausible a theory as any. <looks back to Mokvar> But not the right one, I suspect.

MOKVAR: I have some business that’s going to require me to travel to the Firelands. Trouble is, I’m still relatively inexperienced as a shaman, and my ability to influence the elements isn’t nearly strong enough to keep me safe there. You, on the other hand…well, whatever else I might think of you, there’s no disputing you’re a powerful shaman.

MAGATHA: You flatter me.

MOKVAR: Take it with a grain of salt. It’s one strength offsetting I don’t know how many despicable things about you.

DELIANA: I bet she’d also go great with fries.

MAGATHA: If we’re going to be racist, I’m sure you would be quite adept at climbing trees and picking bananas. <sneers> Especially green ones.

MOKVAR: The point is, I think you might know a trick or two that could help keep me alive when I go. That’s why I wanted to meet with you.

MAGATHA: And why turn to me, Mokvar? There’s certainly no shortage of shaman in Orgrimmar you could have turned to.

MOKVAR: I’d prefer to keep this trip to the Firelands off the record.

MAGATHA: The Cenarion druids at Mouth Hyjal? Thrall and his Earthen Ring?

MOKVAR: Very off the record.

MAGATHA: It must be quite the scandal you’re sitting on if you’d rather turn to me than confide in your supposed friends.

MOKVAR: I have my reasons.

MAGATHA: And those reasons would be…?

MOKVAR: Mine.

Magatha grins.

MAGATHA: Cairne would have liked you.

MOKVAR: Then it’s a shame he was murdered by a traitor before he got the chance to know me.

MAGATHA: You shouldn’t talk about your Warchief like that.

DELIANA: As much as I’m enjoying going back and forth with this…

MAGATHA: Indeed, let’s cut to the chase. You need my help, Mokvar, so now for the real question: Why should I give it to you?

MOKVAR: We both know you don’t harbor any ill will for me, Magatha. I may work for Garrosh, but your quarrel is with him, not me. He’s the one you hate.

MAGATHA: True enough. But that’s merely why it wouldn’t be worth it to me to go out of my way to hurt you, Mokvar, not why it would be worth helping you.

MOKVAR: You’re focusing on the wrong part. Think about this, Magatha. I work for Garrosh. I’m there in Grommash Hold every day. Do you not think that makes me someone who would be…useful to have indebted to you?

MAGATHA: We can meet again here for the exchange. Tomorrow at this time?

DELIANA: How do we know you won’t just be setting a trap?

MAGATHA: How did you know I wasn’t setting one tonight? There are two of you – three if you count your bouncing bear friend. I could bring dozens with a word. But Mokvar was right about one thing – I have nothing to gain from harming him. And whatever else you might think of me, I’m not in the habit of doing harm when there’s no benefit to myself or my tribe.

MOKVAR: Tomorrow night, then.

MAGATHA: Tomorrow night.

Magatha gestures to the other Grimtotem, and they make their way back up the passage.

DELIANA: Are you sure about this?

MOKVAR: Not even remotely. I may spend the next year washing my hands.

Mokvar peers up the dark passageway for several moments.

I think we’re clear.

Mokvar and Deliana start to walk up toward the cave exit. As the passage narrows, a low whooshing sound is heard. Deliana hesitates a moment while glancing around.

DELIANA: <whispering> Did you hear that?

Mokvar nods.

<whispering> There’s someone stealthed in here.

MOKVAR: <whispering> It’s Garona. She came in not far behind us when we arrived.

DELIANA: <whispering> You knew she was following us?

MOKVAR: <whispering> I was counting on it.

We’re staying in Mudsprocket until we go back to Onyxia’s lair tomorrow night. With any luck, things will go off without a hitch there, and Magatha will have something useful for me. Then that much will be over and done with.

It is time once again for me to respond to the various and sundry missives that have found their way to me since last week. This time I seem to drawn the attention of some unlikely writers indeed…

Salutations and greetings under the Infinitely Holy Light, Varok Saurfang! It is my hope that, with the recent change in leadership in Orgrimmar, peace talks can at some point resume. I write to you regarding a terrible danger the seers of the Exodar have seen growing in the heart of the Horde. I speak not of the abominable Banshee Queen or the legions of unholy warlocks infesting your cities, but of a force very close to the center of the Horde – the (currently missing) Garrosh Hellscream. Have you seen him lately? Before he went missing, I mean. He looks rather terribly like a Fel Orc; I fear he has been suckling at the same festering hellteats from which his father supped. Please, if you know it, tell me the identity of the Pit Lord whose blood he has been drinking! The destruction of Hellscream’s demonic master will (once again) liberate the Horde from servitude in the Legion, to the great good of life throughout the Universe.

The Naaru have not forgotten you!

–Eliseth the Argent Champion, The Exodar, Azuremyst Isle

Firstly, having spent considerable time with Warchief Hellscream in Northrend, and being very much aware of his busy schedule since his move to Durotar, I can attest that no such transgressions have taken place as the drinking of demon blood. Moreover, good Eliseth, I am troubled by your willingness to jump to conclusions based solely on the Warchief’s appearance; his skin tone is well within the range of hues common to Mag’har orcs, particularly those who suffered from the red pox in their youth, and if your comment is in some way a reference to the Warchief’s (well-publicized) cranial idiosyncrasies, I believe Warchief Hellscream himself has addressed this matter on at least one occasion.

Rest assured, therefore, that there is no demonic influence at the heart of the Horde, and, by extension, you need not worry that the Burning Legion has set its eyes once again on Azeroth. Should the Legion indeed move against this world, you may further take comfort that we orcs will be ready to stand against them in defense of our home, and in so doing will almost certainly provide you and your eredar kin with ample time to pack. There are, I am sure, plenty of other worlds to which you might relocate while the rest of the “Universe” about which you clearly care so much undertakes to clean up after you.

Dear Warchief Saurfang,

Congratulations on your elevation to leadership of the Horde. I’m sure your peons are thrilled to have a competent commander grinding their faces into the mud of Durotar. I’m writing to inquire about a specific aspect of foreign policy instituted under the (hopefully) late and unlamented Warchief Hellscream (may his body never be found); specifically, his declaration that “all Kalimdor belongs to the Horde”. This claim is idiotic, unenforceable, and will serve only to utterly repudiate any overtures of peace you may wish to make. I advise you to rescind this edict, and withdraw back past the Southfury where you belong. Or preferably, all the way back to Draenor. Get off our planet, alien scum!

Sincerely,

Sepharad of the Nightfall

Watcher

Darnassus, Teldrassil

Kalimdor (seriously, it belongs to the Kaldorei)

Azeroth (not your homeworld)

Greetings, Sepharad. If you will indulge my pedantry for a moment, I would like to elucidate a few linguistic and rhetorical points that you may find beneficial in future endeavors.

Specifically, there is a concept in argument generally referred to as “ethical appeal.” This notion, contrary to what might be suggested by its nomenclature, does not hinge on one’s “ethical” or moral goodness, but rather on the manifest ethos, or identity, which one presents in one’s interactions. Thus, for instance, one who presents oneself as gracious and even-handed is likely to prove more persuasive than one who conveys a persona of rudeness and closed-mindedness, by virtue of their relative ethical appeal.

With this in mind, I might suggest in future missives, should you wish to urge policy change from your reader, you may do well not to open, for instance, by insinuating derision for your reader’s entire society and its adopted home; or by openly hoping for the demise of individuals about whose safety you know your readers to be sincerely concerned; or by levying thinly veiled threats, employing racial slurs, or expressing outright hostility toward your audience. (I would also note, if you truly take such offense at “alien scum” taking up residence on other worlds, you may wish to craft an additional letter to Prophet Velen of your allies the draenei, as his people, if we are to carry out a cursory review of history, have developed something of a pattern of behavior along these lines.)

These are basic concepts of rhetoric, and it saddens me that such an ancient and storied culture as that of the night elves would apparently fail to properly educate its watchers. Lacking a compelling argument in its support, therefore, I feel I must decline your policy recommendation.

[If at first you don’t succeed, you clearly aren’t Saurfang. –Mkvr., ed.]

With that said, if you will pardon me, a chill has begun to drift into the room, so I believe I shall go now to add a log or two of Ashenvale lumber to the fireplace.

Hiya Overlord Saurfang,

What’s up? Even though we goblins in Ratchet try to keep ourselves neutral to this whole Horde/Alliance thing, I do try to keep an eye on what’s going on in the major cities – especially since I have a few cousins in the Bilgewater Cartel living with you guys in Orgrimmar now. I noticed your post the other day about Garrosh’s wyvern getting loose, and I thought you’d be want to know about a weird moment we had here on the docks yesterday. I was hanging around here on the dock, minding my own business, when lo and behold a wyvern flies in and lands just a few yards away, and just sits around by the end of the dock. He wasn’t doing anything, not really even taking notice of anyone, just sitting there. The after a while, one of our ships came in from Booty Bay. The wyvern up and strolled onto the boat, sat himself back down, and just stayed there until the ship headed back out again.

Now, I don’t know if this was Garrosh’s wyvern. I don’t know what his wyvern looks like, other than, you know, looking like a wyvern, and I can’t say I could really tell one wyvern from another anyway. But I thought you might want to know about this.

–Wharfmaster Dizzywig, Ratchet

My thanks to you, Wharfmaster. This is interesting news indeed. While we cannot be certain that the wyvern you describe is the Warchief’s, its behavior certainly appears peculiar enough to merit investigation. I will notify our officers in Stranglethorn Vale of this development, and expand our scouting patrols to that region.

Greetings, Your Warchieferousness! I hope you’re having an absolutely splendid day. I am not having an absolutely splendid day because I keep bumping my head on the doorways here in the goblin slums. I may be the cutest undead killing machine ever to rise from the battlefields of the Third War, but terrible necromantic power has no effect on goblin architecture. Could you possibly see your way clear to annulling former acting Warchief Hellscream’s edict that all races “not strong enough” to defend Orgrimmar (anyone not a tauren or orc, in Hellscream’s piggy little eyes) be banished from the city? I am an implacable harbinger of icy death, and I’m worth at least two tauren anywhere outside a goblin barbeque. I know no fear! I know no pain! I am totally strong enough to defend Orgrimmar. I want my house back.

A pity, Aimee, that you aren’t the Aimee I recall from Northrend. Many were the evenings that I enjoyed one of her selections with my nightly Mok’nathal tea. I recall her red velvet cake was especially sumptuous. You might consider, in fact, looking into baking as a sideline, as I am sure you will find a great many fans should you demonstrate mastery in it; moreover, we find ourselves recently understaffed in Orgrimmar in the area of infantry cooks, so you may well find it a worthwhile avenue for career advancement.

Speaking of which, in a roundabout way, as you are a current resident of the goblin slums, how is the rice situation coming along? Markedly improved, I would hope.

At any rate, I realize that you are not the Aimee of cakery fame, though, again, I would urge you to consider my thoughts on the matter. Still, you certainly share a name of delicious connotation. (Have you considered adopting a pseudonym for combat purposes, incidentally? Though I do not doubt your martial prowess, I am unsure that “Aimee” strikes adequate fear into the hearts of your foes. Compare: “Run! Saurfang just cleaved the heads off of the general and his squire!” “Run! Aimee is accessorizing her Lovely Pink Dress!”)

Where were we again? You will pardon an old man for his tangents. Ah yes, the goblin slums.

Redistricting is indeed always a controversial issue, Aimee. I will endeavor to look into the matter, though the allocation of housing space in a high-demand, high-population area such as Orgrimmar is always precarious at best. In the interim, have you considered investigating real estate options in nearby Razor Hill? I am told suburban areas within easy commuting distance of the major urban centers often offer surprisingly reasonable rental costs. (I would suggest Bilgewater Harbor as another nearby option, but I believe you have clearly established your feelings on goblin neighborhoods.) Or, if you feel your happiness truly depends on residing in the city proper, perhaps the troll architecture of a few blocks north of you would be more suitable?

I will grant I am hardly a real estate expert – many years have passed since I paid off my mortgage on the old Nagrand split-level, and being as I am career military, I have myself always moved from one assigned quarters to the next – but I will attempt to look into matters further to see if anything can be done.

That is all the mail I have time to attend to his week; as always I thank you for your correspondence. I will, of course, continue to keep you posted on our unfolding operations, friends. Honor go with us all.